AN INTERVIEW WITH TONY SOPRANO

﻿ It was dumb, I know, but in the end it was worth it.﻿ Several things could have happened, including getting beat up, killed, or simply ignored, which probably would have hurt the worst.﻿ One of my “associates” (which is a nice way of saying Mel the homeless guy who lives in a cardboard box a block away from Holsten’s) called me the other night to tell me had seen Tony Soprano walk into the neighborhood ice cream parlor and sit down.﻿ By the time I got there and peeked in the window, I could see that his entire family was with him, and that they were eating. I recognized Meadow Soprano’s car across the street (yes, reporters keep track of the cars belonging to high-profile local people and their family members), so I stood a couple of doors down from the diner and waited. And waited. After more than an hour, I decided that either the Soprano family really loves to eat, or they all snuck out a back door.﻿ But Italian Princess Meadow’s car was still parked across the street, so I pulled the collar of my coat tighter and continued to wait.﻿ Three Boy Scouts and a guy with grey hair came out, followed by a couple of black guys, both eating a sfogliatelle, and then a guy in a Members Only jacket I thought they had stopped making back around the time of the Hoover administration.﻿ Each time the Holsten’s door bell subsequently rang, I looked, but never saw a Soprano. But then the bell rang one more time and out walked young A.J. Soprano and his sister Meadow, followed immediately by Carmela Soprano and then the big guy himself, Tony Soprano.﻿ It’s now or never, I thought, so I walked quickly toward the family (which I immediately realized was an enormous mistake when Tony looked toward me and not only immediately placed himself between me and Carmela, but also put his hand in his jacket pocket).﻿ I stopped in my tracks, put both my hands up in the air as high as I could reach, and said, “Excuse me, Tony? Can I talk to you a minute? I’m friends with Pat Parisi’s son Patrick.” (Which I am.)﻿ Tony turned to his kids and said, “You two go home.” They looked at me, and then Meadow crossed the street heading for her car and AJ started walking down the block.﻿ Tony then said to Carmela, “Where’d you park?”﻿ “Just over there,” she said, pointing to a new Porsche Cayenne.﻿ “Okay. Go on home.”﻿ “Tony,” she said with more than a little anxiety in her voice and a few hurled eye-daggers at me.﻿ Tony put his hand on her neck, kissed her on the cheek, smiled, and said, “It’s okay. Go ahead. I won’t be long.”﻿ Once we were alone, Tony’s face turned to stone and he said, “Yeah?”﻿ “I’m a reporter with the New Jersey Messenger, Tony, and I was wondering if ...”﻿ Tony turned and began walking away.﻿ I followed him, talking as I walked. “Hey, come on, Tony. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to answer. And I’m not looking to do a hatchet job. I just thought maybe there’s something you might want people to know from you yourself. There are a lot of stories going around and I’m just trying to get to the truth.”﻿ Tony stopped and looked at me. “You’re friends with Patrick?”﻿ I nodded. “We were in law school together.”﻿ Tony visibly loosened up. “You know he’s gonna be my son-in-law?”﻿ I shook my head. “No. I hadn’t heard that. Congratulations.”﻿ “Thanks. So what do you want?”﻿ Now or never. No risk, no reward. “Any chance we can take a booth in Holsten’s for twenty minutes? My treat.”﻿ Tony chuckled. “Your treat, huh? Sure you can afford it? I know what reporters make.”﻿ I laughed and replied, “Yeah, Holsten’s I can afford.”﻿ Tony looked steadily at me for a minute and then finally said, “Okay. Fifteen minutes. And the first question I don’t like I’m outta there.” I nodded.﻿ And that’s how I found myself sitting in a booth across from New Jersey mob boss Tony Soprano. We ordered coffees and Tony flipped through the jukebox but didn’t play anything.﻿ “So?” he said after the coffees arrived.﻿ “First, please accept my condolences on the loss of your nephew and brother-in-law.” I knew that Tony’s nephew Christopher Moltisanti had recently died in an SUV accident, and that his sister Janice’s husband Bobby Baccalieri had been gunned down in a model train store a week or so earlier.﻿ “Thanks.”﻿ “How’s Silvio Dante doing?”﻿ “He’s gonna be fine,” Tony replied with a touch of anger in his voice. Dante had been shot outside the Bada Bing, the Lodi topless bar (Tony Soprano is rumored to be a silent partner in the Bing) and was reportedly in an irreversible coma.﻿ “Okay,” I said. “Can I ask you a couple of questions about your Uncle Junior?”﻿ Tony glared at me and sipped his coffee ... but didn’t say no, so I plunged ahead. “I understand he’s in a state facility now?”﻿ “Yeah, so?”﻿ “How’s he doing?”﻿ “He’s looney tunes, that’s how he’s doing.”﻿ “I’m sorry.”﻿ “Don’t be. He’s an arrogant prick.”﻿ Change the subject. “Is there anything you’d like to say about the murder of Phil Leotardo?”﻿ “Like what?”﻿ “Well, I know you two knew each other.”﻿ “Oh, yeah? How do you know that?”﻿ “The Cleaver premiere party.”﻿ “You were at that?”﻿ “No, but someone I know was and they said they saw you and Phil talking like old friends.”﻿ “I knew Phil.”﻿ “How do you feel about him getting killed?”﻿ “How do I feel? How do you think I feel? I’m sorry for his wife, Patty, and his grandkids. His family.”﻿ Dare I? “Y’know, Tony, some people are saying Phil was killed by ... by ...”﻿ “By who?”﻿ “Um, New Jersey people. Friends of yours.”﻿ ​Tony leaned back and burst into a wide grin. “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s a felonious belief.”﻿ “Felonious?”﻿ “Yeah. A mistake.”﻿ “So you don’t know what happened to Phil and you had nothing to do with it?”﻿ Tony sipped his coffee and when he put down the cup he said very calmly, “Of course not. All I know is what I read in the papers.”﻿ “Okay. Listen, I know you want to get home to your family, so I’ll just ask one more question. What’s next for Tony Soprano?”﻿ Tony looked at me and was quiet for a moment. He then leaned in and said softly, “I’ll tell you what’s next, pal. What’s next is you’re gonna write a very flattering article about your interview with Tony Soprano, and you’re gonna emphasize that he’s a retired waste management consultant who spends time with his family, and that he’s looking forward to many happy and content years to come.” He stared me in the eyes and said, “You got that?”﻿ I nodded, and with a bit of a catch in my voice, replied, “I got it. And thanks, Tony.”﻿ Tony leaned back and glanced at a waitress passing by holding a bowl of onion rings. “Mmm, onion rings,” he said. He then looked hard at me and said, “Best in the state far as I’m concerned.”﻿ And then he got up and left me sitting alone in the booth.﻿ ​I didn’t turn around when I heard the bell ring as he exited Holsten’s.﻿